


we like our choruses sung together

by hungerpunch



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:59:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungerpunch/pseuds/hungerpunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“On a scale of love,” Louis says, “do you love him more how you love me, or more how Becks loves Posh?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	we like our choruses sung together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hostagesfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/gifts).



> commissioned by s of [hostagesfic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/). thank you so much for such a delightful prompt & i love you. ♥ 
> 
> a great many thanks to [gina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/castoffstarter/) for the beta job & [shannon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendrums/) for brit-picking!

This tour had been leagues easier than the last at first, fresh off a long vacation in which Zayn did little else but sleep and barbeque and lounge on his sofa to watch movies with his family and friends. By the time Where We Are had started, he'd honestly been ready for it.

But there's just no way to maintain that level of enthusiasm over the course of six-and some months. They're reaching that creaking point of the last leg, which happens to be North America, where everyone is constantly under-slept and homesick. And more than homesick, just distracted by the idea of the world, of time, spinning on while they remain in an isolated bubble of schedules and shows. When Zayn gets home, Safaa will have grown another couple inches and that blows his mind. It's a pressing feeling but hard to articulate without sounding ungrateful; something you generally have to be on the inside of to understand.

Well, at least, there is maybe one person who understands from the outside, Zayn thinks as he sees Danny come into the hotel from the car park.

It's late at night and they're in a service hallway so there's no one but a handful of bodyguards to see how quickly Zayn goes from leaning on the wall to caving into Danny's arms. For someone who must be exhausted from a transatlantic flight, Danny still feels steady, sturdy like the exposed roots of the giant tree in their neighborhood they all used to play around.

“Hey, Z,” he says, so gentle, a quiet breath of laughter. Zayn's been smiling since Danny walked through the large gray door but he really feels it now, turning his face so one end of his giant grin is pressed into Danny's neck.

“Dan,” he says, giving one last squeeze before straightening up. “You need me to take a bag?” he asks, gesturing to the rucksack on Danny's back and the large duffel in his hand.

“Have I ever needed you to take a bag?” Danny asks, pushing his shoulder. “Let's just get us up to the room, yeah? Need a shower before I go mad.”

Zayn knows that feeling.

Hotel rooms are still strange to him—he spends most tours in the bus, comforted by a space that remains the same night after night, but for Danny's visit he hadn't hesitated to book a room. Zayn is perfectly fine navigating the utter chaos that is Bus 2, and he's sure Danny wouldn't mind it either, but his mother raised him to be a better host than that.

Danny books it to the shower, the door of the bathroom left ajar an inch. Zayn can hear him humming vaguely over the running water and he flops backwards on one of the two beds in the room, flipping through TV channels restlessly. He can't explain it but he's itching suddenly, nervous about Danny having a good time. It's late enough now that they'll probably just pass out, but Zayn grabs the room service book off the night stand in case he's hungry.

Danny _is_ hungry, it turns out, and they order up full slabs of ribs while they settle on a marathon of SVU. “This show's pretty all right,” Zayn comments as Danny knees his way up the bed to plop against the pillows. “We all started watching it from season one last year but had to stop ‘cause Harry was having nightmares.”

“That's a shame,” Danny says. “You getting in here?”

Zayn blinks and twists sideways to see Danny reclined against the headboard with his arms spread wide, glancing pointedly in between Zayn and his own chest. Zayn's face heats up just a touch, which wouldn't be noticeable to most people but Danny's known him too long now. Whenever he goes a long period of time without seeing someone, he usually lets them pick the pace at which they re-acclimate. He tends to forget that Danny doesn't need slow; they always pick right back up from where they left off.

Zayn licks his lips and rolls towards him on the bed, tentatively settling his head just below the wing of Danny's clavicle, his t-shirt soft against Zayn's stubble. Danny's arm closes in around him, fingertips brushing lightly just above the inside of Zayn's elbow. “You look tired,” Danny murmurs and Zayn sighs in lieu of answering, letting the day go from him. The smell of Danny's laundry detergent is like a trigger of flash memories, second-long clips of the Riach's house and all the time he spent there with the boys.

“Right,” Danny says a moment later as Stabler kicks a door in. “Who's who in this show?”

 _A week,_ Zayn thinks the next morning when he peels his eyes open and, through the open door of the bedroom, sees Danny puttering around in the kitchenette sporting a massive case of bedhead. _I've got you for one week._

They've got two days in Houston before they move and Zayn doesn't think the oppressive heat has anything to do with how tired he still is after a giant cup of tea and a shower. He runs a hand through his wet hair as he tries to figure out what to wear and Danny pipes up from across the room. “We don't have to do anything today, y'know.”

Zayn looks up. “You flew across the ocean to hang out with me, of course we're doing stuff.”

Danny locks the screen of his iPhone and sets it in his lap, folding his fingers together and looking at him with a heavy gaze, assessing. “You look half dead on your feet.”

Zayn scowls. “I take offense to that.”

Danny rolls his eyes and stands. “I'm just saying, we don't have to do the run around. Let's just relax.”

“We're not just gonna stay here and do nothing.”

“Fine,” Danny says, walking over to toe his shoes on. “Here's something you should take offense to: your eyebrows are out of control.”

“Pardon me—” Zayn starts, bristling.

“You're quite pardoned,” Danny smirks at him. “If you insist on going out today, then I'm picking the activity.” He grabs his keys from off the kitchen counter. “Spa day.”

One hot stone massage, manicure, and eyebrow threading later, Zayn's glad Danny picked. Zayn would have tried to go shopping or something, which undoubtedly would have ended in a stressful mobbing. “I feel like a noodle,” he says as they get into the back of Preston's car. He tries to sit upright but ends up halfway down the seat, bones veritably liquified.

“That was the point,” Danny says, smiling, his skin practically glowing from the facial he'd gotten done and Zayn smiles back.

“Thanks,” he says quietly after a pause.

“I got you.” Danny reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. “Can't have the resident pretty boy looking like a cave man.”

“Piss off,” Zayn laughs. “What's next on the agenda, smart one?”

“The entire agenda consists of eating and playing Playstation. Is that entertaining enough for you?” he teases.

“Shut up,” Zayn says, pushing Danny's arm off him. “Missed you,” he grumbles afterward, just loud enough that Zayn sees Danny register it belatedly as he looks out the window, grin on his lips.

“Missed you too, Zayn.”

When they emerge from the hotel room the next day, Zayn feels more refreshed than he has in weeks after a night of video games and trying out the fancy new vaporizer he bought in L.A. Of Danny burning through play list after play list of old school R&B jams and Zayn inserting various adlibbed Bollywood references in his falsetto just to hear him crack up. They killed an entire hour investigating the GTA mystery on Reddit and sent far too many Snapchats to Ant and Zayn has actively tried to keep his chest from splitting apart with how good it feels to have Danny around again.

Louis has designs on a private viewing of the new _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ flick at a local theater so they're waiting with Paul and fifteen other security personnel at the vans for the rest of the boys.

“All right Danny!” Louis fist pumps when he sees them, and Danny gives him a welcoming hug. 

“Tommo,” he says. “Been a long time!”

“Too long!” Louis agrees, slapping Danny’s back. “Here's Zayn being too selfish to share you with us, I guess.”

“Don't mind him,” Liam says as he joins them. “Separation anxiety.” But he still leans into Zayn, bumping his shoulder. “Missed you, though.”

“It was _one_ day,” comes Niall's voice of reason as he winds around Louis to hug Danny hello. “Good to have ya, lad,” he says happily. “Now are we goin’ to see this movie or what?”

“Where's Harry?” Liam asks, looking around.

“Meeting us at the theater,” Niall says, tapping at his phone. “He's coming from lunch with Cara and Co.”

“And he'll be there light years before the lot of you if you don't get in the van,” Paul says grievously, holding the sliding door open.

“Keep your pants on,” Louis quips, but he scuttles into the van beneath Paul's wilting gaze just the same.

They're ushered through the back of the cineplex into their own theater like it's a matter of national security but Zayn's glad for the privacy, truthfully, as they settle into their seats and the movie starts without previews. Zayn wonders distantly how much Louis splashed out for this, but reckons it's probably a lot less than what they spent on a customized Mystery Machine so. That's that.

A private theater also means that Harry sits on his phone for almost the whole movie and Louis and Liam end up throwing popcorn at each other more than once and Zayn almost kills them both because the TMNT _matter to him, okay_ , but Danny's hand squeezes his knee, gentling him. Zayn glances at him sidelong in the dark and catches his knowing grin.

After the movie they get shepherded into a party room at Ciao Bello for dinner, where Danny slings his arm across the back of Zayn's chair as they wait for their food and watch Harry pretend to be a sommelier.

“I watched _Somm_!” Harry insists, swirling his red around in the goblet. “I know what I'm doing.”

“Sure, me too,” Niall says, lifting his Stella bottle in cheers before taking a long pull. Danny laughs into his glass of Moretti and swipes his thumb against the nape of Zayn's neck, who reclines into the pressure. He feels a sudden prickle on the side of his face and when he turns his head, finds Louis' eyes fixed on him.

Eyebrows furrowing, Zayn mouths, _All right?_

Louis shakes his head and diverts his gaze elsewhere, picking up the main thread of conversation and throwing in a laugh at Harry's expense. Zayn shrugs and, a little cold from the blasting air conditioning, sinks sideways into Danny’s warmth.

That night they crowd into Niall's room—as it's the cleanest—and Liam insists on FIFA, only because he knows he can annihilate everyone at it, while Danny and Louis set to rolling each of them spliffs.

In the haze that comes when six people smoke in the same immediate vicinity (even with the windows open), Zayn turns sloth-like and content, eyes half-mast as he watches Liam barely beat Danny at a round. Niall has given up pretending to care, sprawled across his bed with his face turned into Zayn's calf, singing an Ellie Goulding tune under his breath.

Danny comes to sandwich in next to Zayn at the head of the bed, peering down at Niall with fond amusement. He's not the only one endeared, as Louis belly flops on top of Niall's back and blows a raspberry against his neck. “Niall,” he sing-songs as Niall wriggles sluggishly beneath him. “Nia-ller.”

“Heeeyyyy,” Harry drawls from where he's lying on the floor. He claws his way up the bed spread like a disoriented cat, hauling himself into their pile. “Shove over. I love Niall, too.”

“I see nothing's changed in four years,” Danny giggle-whispers into Zayn's ear and Zayn laughs, too, listing into him. When he looks down again, Louis is looking right back up at him, serious expression on his face. Then Harry accidentally knocks all their heads together, inciting a round of pained hissing.

“Nope,” Zayn answers Danny.“Nothing at all, really.”

“This has changed though,” Danny says later after they've tripped back up to their own room and Zayn's peeling his shirt off, poking a constellation of tattoos on Zayn's arm. 

For some reason, the words spread like ice through his chest even as Danny continues getting ready for sleep. After a moment, he trails into the bathroom after Danny, standing with his hip against the sink and gnawing his thumb nail—a bad habit picked up from Niall—while he watches Danny brush his teeth. “I'm still me, though, right? Dan?”

Danny's eyes widen in the mirror as he seems to realize the profound impact of his words. “No, jaan,” he says around his toothbrush, then pauses to spit and rinse. Zayn's pulse skitters at the endearment, and Danny wipes his wet mouth with the back of his wrist before he gathers Zayn into him slowly, like he knows that Zayn's disturbed. “That's not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Zayn asks over Danny's shoulder, hands fisting loosely in the back of Danny's shirt.

“It's been four years, of course you've changed. I'd be worried if, if. Y'know. You hadn't changed and, grown up and stuff. I'm just saying. You're quite a bit different from that moody try-hard I met in Drama,” he jokes, fondness undermining the jab. “But you're still Zain Malik, with two 'i's.”

“Okay,” Zayn breathes. “I haven't turned into a giant famous prat?”

“Not even a bit,” Danny reassures him, letting go. “You'll be a giant famous hot mess if you don't get in bed now, though.”

“Yes, mum,” Zayn intones, yelping when Danny whips his arse with a towel on his way out. He takes his time washing his face and brushing his teeth before doing as he’s told, climbing into the same bed and nestling along Danny's back, the muscles of which ripple as he reaches to turn the lights out.

“That means a lot to me, y'know,” Zayn whispers at length, and Danny turns over to face him.

“What does?”

“That you know who I really am,” Zayn says. “That I've still got someone from before all this madness started. Some of the other guys...” he trails. “I dunno, it's just gotten messy for some of them, it seems.” He shuts his eyes, the end of his high making him hypersensitive to the way the pillow feels under his cheek. “It could swallow me, yeah? Everything. But you know.”

“I'll always be here,” Danny says, and Zayn opens his eyes, watches the way the silver light from outside plays across his angular face. His vision adjusts to the dark and he can see how Danny's got one arm folded up under his head, yin-yang tattoo on his wrist visible. He reaches out and touches it, smiling, and when Danny scoops him closer, Zayn falls asleep to him humming a lullaby that Zayn's dad had always hummed, too.

The end of the week speeds up and smacks into Zayn like a steaming freight train; he wakes up the day of Danny's departure and his chest is so tight and heavy that before he opens his eyes he suspects someone's sitting on it.

They eat breakfast together in silence, not uncomfortable but anticipatory, Danny gripping Zayn's hipbone as he reaches around him for the tea kettle. Zayn outright _trudges_ to the parking lot, where a car is waiting to take Danny to the airport. Zayn would go with him if he could, but they've got to get back on the road.

Something static roars between them as Danny heaves his bag into the boot of the car and turns round to hug him. Zayn so badly doesn't want him to go yet. He burrows into the hug, stilling there and hoping time will stop somehow. For his part, Danny doesn't seem too inclined to move either, but after a couple minutes, the driver coughs politely.

“Gotta go,” Danny mutters against Zayn's ear. “Gonna miss my flight.”

“Oh no,” Zayn says sarcastically, feels the light wave of laughter that shakes through Danny.

“Ah...I'll miss you,” Danny says and a painful ache wells up through Zayn's ribs as Danny steps back from him. “Be good, yeah?”

Zayn can't explain it, what feeling is dogging him as Danny starts to get into the car. “Danny, wait—” and when Danny tilts halfway back out, one hand gripping the door frame and his face tilted up, Zayn goes in to kiss his cheek and then, without thinking it through, his lips a second later.

The thing is, it wouldn't be a big deal. He kisses all the lads, it's. Just a way of expressing affection. Except this isn't like that, and he knows it deep in his gut. He lingers there, settling his lips against Danny's, and Danny lets him, and when Zayn finally breaks away, he looks stunned.

“I...” Zayn gasps, gulping air, and before he can explain himself, the driver pulls the door shut with an apologetic look, tapping his watch pointedly. Zayn nods and looks back down at Danny, who still looks dazed but smiles slightly and knocks his knuckles twice against the window just before the car pulls away.

Zayn doesn't have a second to orient himself; once he steps back into the hotel, Paul's waiting to guide him to the tour bus where Zayn's luggage is already waiting.

“All right?” Louis asks when Zayn boards, and he knows his face must be showing how he's feeling, but he doesn't know how to talk about it yet so he just nods and goes to isolate himself in his bunk.

He gets a text messages ten minutes later from Danny: _Don't freak out_. And then, _We'll talk when you're home. Enjoy the rest of the tour x_ Zayn can't decide whether it's wonderful or terrible, so he turns his phone off and goes to sleep.

“I've been sent to check on you,” Louis says hours later, pulling Zayn's bunk curtain back a fraction. “Niall got worried when you didn't come out for dinner.”

Zayn rolls over, blinking blearily at him. “M'not hungry.”

Louis nods understandingly. “I know that look.”

“What look?”

“ _That_ look,” Louis repeats, poking in between Zayn's eyebrows. “Shove over.” Zayn sighs but shuffles back to the wall, leaving enough room for Louis to slink in and curl up. “Someone's got the blues.”

Zayn shrugs. “Just homesick, like everybody else.”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says skeptically. He takes one of Zayn's hands and examines his nails idly. “Zayn, I,” he starts and stops, glancing up at Zayn like he's trying to solve a problem. “I'm going to assume that over the last four years, you would have said something if you. Like. Had ever had a thing with Danny?”

“Oh my god, Lou, _no_ ,” Zayn hisses, turning over to face the wall and scowling, but Louis just comes after him, slinging an arm over his hip.

“Just listen!” he says. “Okay. Well. If you haven't, um... do you want to? 'Cause like. I just. I know how you are with us, and how you are with him is like, distinctly different.” Zayn doesn't know what to say, so he just takes a hold of Lou's hand and squeezes tight. “That's what I thought,” Louis murmurs, bundling Zayn closer. “Are you going to sort it out, then?”

“I don't know how,” Zayn whispers. “I don't even know, like, anything, really.”

“But you know you like him?”

“I love him,” Zayn answers without hesitation, because it's true. He's probably loved Danny since the first day Danny showed him how to one-up kids who called him nasty slurs.

“On a scale of love,” Louis says, “do you love him more how you love me, or more how Becks loves Posh?”

Zayn chews his lip for a moment but he knows the answer, now, suddenly so unshakeable whereas a week ago it hadn't really occurred to him beyond abstract curiosity. “I would say I'm definitely the Posh in this situation,” is all he says, and Louis hugs him.

“I know I talk a lot of shit,” Louis murmurs. “But I really have found honesty to be the best policy.”

Zayn swallows and moves to tangle his feet with Louis'. “He said we'll talk when I get home, so. We'll talk when I get home.”

“Good,” Louis says. “That means you've got time to figure out what you want.”

Zayn doesn't know if that's really what ends up happening. The month-and-a-half left of tour is at once a long time and a short time, and full of plenty of emotional upheaval without Zayn considering what's waiting at home for him.

But it comes, and it goes, and Zayn leaves the boys with long hugs and cheek kisses and promises to answer the phone. And then he gets on a plane, and then he gets in a car, and then he's pulling up to his house where he knows the whole family is waiting to welcome him home. He only gets one foot in the door before he's engulfed by his sisters, then his parents, and then his aunties and Zayn wants to cry, a little, with all that love.

Danny and Ant wait respectfully until he's seen all the family before jumping him, laughing. Ant's gotten tall enough now to put Zayn into a headlock and noogie him with ease, which Danny encourages happily. When Ant finally lets him go and Zayn looks at Danny properly, there's an undeniable strand of tension, but Zayn wouldn't call it bad. Danny doesn't look upset with him, or sad, but he can feel a certain expectation hanging heavy between them.

They make it all the way through the feast Zayn's mum and aunts have prepared before Zayn excuses himself for a smoke, shouldering the back door open and stepping out into the garden. It only takes thirty seconds for the door to creak open again and when Zayn turns, Danny's slipped out, nodding at him. Zayn follows Danny's gesture and they go round the side of the house, away from windows and attentive eyes.

“Right now?” Zayn asks, knowing Danny's felt it all night, too.

“Look,” Danny says, shoving both his hands into his pockets and straightening up. “I'm only gonna have the guts to say this once, so just listen.” Zayn nods, utterly terrified, and Danny licks his lips. “I love you, you know that.”

“I know,” Zayn whispers, paralyzed under Danny's loaded gaze.

“And I wanna be there for you, however, um,” his voice cracks slightly and he pauses, shifting his weight. “However you want me.”

“Danny,” Zayn says, leaning back against the side of the house. He laughs a little hysterically, feeling crazed, and too lucky for his own good. “If _you_ want _me_.”

Danny moves in and one of his broad hands cups Zayn’s throat, the other going to hold the back of his head. “Fuck, but I do,” he says, heated and quiet, averting his gaze like it's something he isn't sure if he should be ashamed of or not.

“Me too,” Zayn says. “I love you, Dan, we're so stupid. We're _so_ stupid, we could've—”

“Gonna kiss you now,” Danny cuts him off, voice dark as his eyes flick up to Zayn's mouth. “If that's okay.”

“Please,” Zayn whispers, cheeks burning at how desperate it comes out and Danny doesn't make him wait for it, pushing Zayn back against the house properly and kissing him deeply, tasting like the spices from dinner. Zayn feels dizzy when they part for breath.

“I might’ve wanted that for years,” Danny confesses, rubbing his thumb along Zayn's damp lower lip.

Zayn feels like his heart could burst out of his chest any second. “Can't say I haven't thought about it,” he says.

“Is it the right time now?” Danny asks, crowding close and dropping kisses across Zayn's face, holding him like he's something precious that might fall through the gaps of his fingers. “For us?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, running his hand under Danny's shirt at the small of his back. “I think it’s time.”


End file.
